


Bared

by EmeraldSage



Series: Juxtaposition [4]
Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Apologetic Ivan, Developing Relationship, Dubious Consent, Eventual Fluff, Extremely Dubious Consent, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Poor Alfie, Possessive Behavior, Werewolves
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-08
Updated: 2017-03-08
Packaged: 2018-10-01 04:13:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,203
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10180421
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EmeraldSage/pseuds/EmeraldSage
Summary: He's submissive but he's not.  He's fire and wind and sky, and everything that ran between.What happens when someone tries to cage the wind?





	

**Author's Note:**

> Takes place just after Chapter 2 of "The Life & Times..."
> 
> This was supposed to be a light and fluffy chapter 3, that was funny and punny and ended up with Alfie in a wedding ring. This was NOT supposed to be what it ended up.
> 
> But, hey, plot relevance wins out!

            The arm around his waist was tight, hot, and binding, just as the tongue in his mouth was fierce and demanding. Everything in his being yearned for the easy piece of submission, but his own heart was as fierce as the fire trying to tame it. So he fought back against the tongue in his mouth, wrestling it back with his own until the other had enough. And suddenly, he was spun and shoved against the car door, his mate pressing down on him unrelentingly, until his only option was going limp, letting the other have his way.

            He kneed the other where it hurt instead.

            His mate choked out a groan, slumping forwards and his grip on Alfred tightening until the blue-eyed wolf had to bite back a wince, well aware he’d have bruises that wouldn’t heal until tomorrow.

            “ _You_ ,” his mate growled, voice hoarse, husky, nearly feral, and Alfred wouldn’t have shifted away even if he wasn’t pressed back against the car door with nowhere to go, “bold _brat_. I give you too much freedom.”

            He laughed at the comment, leaning forwards to nuzzle into his mate’s neck reassuringly. Any other dominant would’ve had him punished – spread out on his knees, throat bared – would have, at the _least_ , forced him to bare his throat, defer to the other’s judgment and the rage that was sure to come. Ivan was grumbling, even as he gathered his strength back from the blow. He’d yet to make a single move.

            Even so, Ivan _was_ a dominant, and he should’ve expected the claiming kiss that Ivan stole from him.

            “You’ll submit to me tonight,” the violet-eyed dominant purred into his ear, and he felt the flush creep up his skin, vibrant heat staining his skin red. Ivan’s laugh rumbled in his chest, and kisses were dropped across his neck, teeth skimming the flushed skin.

            “Will I?” he breathed, and wasn’t surprised when Ivan sunk his teeth into the flushed, sensitive skin towards the back of his neck. He choked on a breathy gasp that turned into a barely suppressed moan the longer Ivan worked on that small patch of skin. By the time his mate had pulled away from his neck, there was a satisfied look on his face, and Alfred was sure there was a newly purpling mark, just above his t-shirt collar, where everyone could see.

            Subtle his mate was not.

            They'd parked by the bus station instead of the main campus square for this very reason. Alfred knew enough about horny, possessive dominants to know that parting for the day would take at least a solid half hour and probably the addition of more hickies to his rapidly growing collection.

            Ivan _loved_ leaving hickies on him. Especially since he did it so very pointedly, and in undeniably obvious places. Honestly, he should've just taken the brief humiliation at the Mating Race Celebrations. It's like every hicky was in revenge for the _one_ time Ivan _didn't_ mark him.

            “I’m going to be late,” he groaned, contemplating kicking his mate again to make his point, but Ivan would probably just hold him there longer. Possessive bastard.

            Said possessive bastard hummed against his neck before disengaging completely. He let Alfred snatch his bag from inside of the car before he wrapped the younger in one last embrace.

            Alfred could feel Ivan’s eyes on him the entire time as he walked to the campus shuttle. So, before anyone else could see, he spun on the balls of his feet, and blew a half-teasing and half-sincere kiss to his mate, smirking when he whirled back around and raced for the sliding glass doors offering him sanctuary from that burning gaze.

            Well, at least today had started out _interesting_.

* * *

           He didn't have a wedding ring, so, as he greeted classmates, professors, and other friends, it was easy enough to pretend nothing had changed. Already it had been a week since the holiday break had ended – a week since he’d told his mate about university – and still, no one had noticed. Rings were human custom, and only the few mated pairs who interacted with humans on a regular basis had rings. Dominants who worked or lived in the human world and were mated often had the too, but a good number went without. They weren't worried about being hit on, even though it did happen.

            The real issue came with submissives in the human world. Mated submissives were obvious to their fellow wolves, as the scent of a dominant wrapped tightly around a submissive's own scent. The mating bite - recognized for what it was by other wolves and most of the supernatural community - was another indicator. But humans weren't aware of such things, so they needed rings. And even still, a persistent human didn't give up that easily. Most dominants disliked allowing submissives out into the human world without them.

            But Ivan was different, and recognized Alfred's unprecedented level of independence for a submissive. Even so, he would never forget that Ivan was a possessive as fuck dominant werewolf. The marks – _cough_ hickies _cough –_ spoke for themselves. He was damned lucky it was winter, and wearing a scarf was considered totally appropriate, despite the fact that he was _baking_ in his layers. His mate was a possessive fuck.

            Which made the human he'd been flirting with last semester – who was currently eyeing him up like a wolf would a freshly caught deer – a larger problem than he'd thought it would be.

            _Shit_.

* * *

           The bastard couldn’t take a damned hint, of _course_ he couldn’t.

            The human he’d been flirting with for the last semester had followed him throughout the last week, popping up everywhere like a bad penny. He still hadn’t told Ivan – he’d probably get told off for the flirting, and Ivan got cranky when Alfred ignored him – but if this annoying bratty human didn’t stop stalking him, he was probably going to find out sooner or later. And it might not even happen by Alfred _telling_ him.

            Alfred didn’t like to consider that option.

            "And I'm _telling_ you," he growled to the human who’d stalked him into the parking lot, voice finally raising in frustration and dislike, "That I. Am. Taken. I'm in a committed relationship. You need to back the fuck off!"

            "You couldn’t have possibly gotten over me _that_ quickly. You were flirting with me all of last semester!" came the swift rebuttal, and damn it, the asshole was smirking. He shoved down the urge to bare his teeth at the human.

            "Because you were hot," he drawled, and the human perked up, obviously choosing not to here the past tense in that sentence, "and it was fun. That’s all it was, from the start, and you know that because you do it too!"

            "You can't go from single and looking to happily committed in a matter of weeks," the human snarled, and good Mother, he was a _werewolf_. Who did this human think he was going to impress with that pathetic display?

            "Well I did and I _am,_ ” he snarled back, with much more oomph to it given how the human paled, "so kindly _Fuck. Off_."

            He eyed the human, satisfied in the way he’d paled, and turned around, intent on walking away to meet his mate. Only…before he could move away from bastard in front of him, the ass snagged his collar and yanked him close.

            And kissed him.

            It was rough. It was deep, intimate, and promising. But it had absolutely nothing on the kisses that he shared with his mate, and it was only shock that kept him from reacting sooner than he did. He _shoved_ the human away, a little bit of his werewolf strength creeping into the movement, and the unfortunate asshole stumbled backwards and tripped over one of the stone parking blocks, landing hard on his ass.

            _Serves him right_ , he thought, livid, wiping the bastard’s spit from his mouth on the back of his hand and onto his jeans.

            But before he could go postal on the asshole in front of him – yelling only, and he was Arthur Kirkland's son, his tongue was as vicious as his claws, and this asshole deserved them _both_ – a smooth, strong, and utterly _icy_ voice interrupted them.

            "Is there something wrong here?"

            _Shit_. Shiiiiiit. Shit shit shit shit, oh fucking _shit_.

            He turned around, ever so slowly, and met the vivid violet eyes of the speaker. And paled.

            Ivan looked all kinds of Not. Happy. And those violet eyes were half-feral when they stared at him, and he _knew_.

            _He saw_. _I didn’t push him away soon enough_.

            Not for Ivan’s wolf, at least. The logic and higher thinking might be able to make sense out of Alfred’s delayed reaction, but his mate was probably running on instinct right now. And instinct said…

            Instinct saw a human kissing his mate. And…his mate _didn’t_ _stop him_.

            Sometimes, he really hated wolf instincts.

            Ivan glanced away from him, cold gaze turning to the human interloper in the situation, “Is there a reason you’re bothering my partner?” he asked coolly, and even though Alfred was half-way into a panic at what was about to happen, a part of him warmed at the title he’d been given. _Partner_ , a part of him hummed happily, _equals_.

            An arm slid around him and it was tight, binding, with no room for escape, and he felt the world close in, snapping him out of his thoughts.

            He glanced at Ivan’s expression, nearly wincing at the vicious cold he was barely suppressing in front of the human, who’s expression had devolved into something akin to primal fear, though he was trying to hide it. Unsurprising, he thought, even humans tended to understand when they were about to do something that would get them killed.

            “N-no,” the idiot stuttered, “I was – I was just leaving!”

            Ivan’s lips curled into a fanged grin, and he could hear the human’s heart race shoot up, terrified, “Then you should leave, shouldn’t you?” The human nodded and turned to bolt across the parking lot where he’d accosted the younger wolf, heading for the car at the end of the lot. Smart human.

            He sighed softly, resting his head on his mate’s shoulder, and felt Ivan’s attention turn to him. “Thank you,” he said, soft and reluctant, “he’s been nagging at me all day.”

            “Don’t thank me yet,” was returned at him, and he could’ve cursed at the tight tone and the barely audible growl in that voice. “I’m not done with you.”

            That jerked his attention, and he looked at his mate, eyes narrowed, “I didn’t do anything,” he said, teeth gritted.

            “ _Oh?_ ” he didn’t imagine the growl, because this time, it echoed in the parking lot around them. Ivan’s eyes were glowing hot and angry, and he realized his mate was in no mood to hear any kind of explanation.

            “This wasn’t my faul-!”

            “Get in the car.” It was an order, plain and simple, and it cut off any form of explanation that he would’ve tried to give. He blanked for a moment, trying to think of something to say, when the grip around his waist moved around his bicep with enough strength to bruise. He glanced up at his mate, startled – he hadn’t even heard Ivan _move_ – but before he could say anything, Ivan was dragging him towards the car. He bit his lip as he was shoved into the passenger side door.

            “In.” was barked at him before Ivan walked around to the driver’s side and slid seamlessly into the vehicle. The darkened violet-eyed glare he received when Ivan turned and saw that he hadn’t moved certainly motivated him into doing so.

            He buckled himself in silently, stewing in irritation even as half of him was on a hair trigger. His mate was tense, and the silence was filled with something ominous, and he didn’t like it at all.

            They were on the main road when Alfred broke the ominous silence with an, “I can explain it,” that had Ivan’s gaze darting to him forebodingly.

            He swallowed, trying to pretend that threat didn’t affect him, and continued, “He’s been…pestering me for days. I’ve been rejecting him since I got back. We used to flirt a lot in classes – it was like a game, you know – and I think he took it too seriously…”

            “Alfred.” Ivan’s voice cut him off, and his brows furrowed as he realized there something off about the tone his mate was using. “Alfred, I am going to hurt you if you don’t stop talking.” And just like that, the words dried up in his mouth, and he snapped, wide-eyed towards his mate.

            Ivan’s hands clenched tightly on the steering wheel, and Alfred could hear the wheel groan, nearly wincing at the sound. A frustrated growl emerged from his mate’s throat, and he swallowed. Violet eyes glanced at the way Alfred had tensed, and the blue-eyed teen could _see_ Ivan trying to visibly calm himself down.

            Another sigh, “I’m trying to hold myself back,” the elder wolf said, voice still deceptively mild, “because I know I don’t have the whole story. That there’s more to what I heard. And you’re trying to tell me about it, I understand. But,” and here the mild tone shifted into something out of every submissive’s nightmare, “if you don’t _stop bringing it up_ , I’m going to end up dragging you into the woods and making absolutely sure that you know _exactly_ who you belong to. And you won’t be able to leave the bed for a week. I’m _warning you_ , Alfred.”

            For a split-second, he considered disobeying the implicit order he’d been given. But the look in Ivan’s eyes was uncompromising and terrifying all the same, and he _did_ have some common sense – despite what many in the pack thought – so he shut up, and tilted his head away, baring just a sliver of his throat to the other wolf’s watching eyes. He saw the way Ivan relaxed minutely at the gesture of submission, and the vice grip on the steering wheel eased considerably.

            They endured the ride home in complete silence, and Alfred felt his nerves jumping by the time the car pulled into the driveway of their den. Ivan’s door was closed carefully – not slammed, which would be far too satisfying and too informative to any sneaky watchers, even so late at night – and Alfred slid out of the car, making his way into the house without any sort of prompting.

            He stowed his shoes and moved inside almost mechanically, almost not recognizing the sound of the door closing and the deadbolt sliding into place. And certainly, he tried not to think about how, once he’d slipped into their bedroom, the door clicked shut, locked, and the curtains were drawn after his mate had entered.

            He stopped in front of his wardrobe, dropping his school bag to the floor, and proceeded to strip himself bare. He could feel his hands shaking, and he was torn between the urge to scream, to hit something and to just…to _just_ …

            He _couldn’t_. Everything in him refused to submit like this. Refused to even _consider_ it.

            Ivan’s hands were already on him, searching, exploring, possessively tight with warning, and he wanted to _cry, and this wasn’t right_.

            But…but he was being led to the bed. One of Ivan’s hands was at the small of his back, directing him the small distance there, while the other was wrapped tightly around his bicep. He knelt on the bed with little provocation, head bowed, and he could feel Ivan move away from him. His heart rate skyrocketed, even knowing his mate was listening to its rhythmic tempo. It should’ve been comforting – that Ivan would know when he was troubled, when he was terrified, and would be able to stop whatever it was he was doing – but right now, it was only making things worse. He could feel his breathing pick up.

            And Ivan’s heartbeat was coldly calm and steady, and his breathing didn’t as much as waver an instance.

            _He needs this_ , an insidious little voice in his head whispered to him, _he needs this and you owe him. You’re his mate, and he saw betrayal. Isn’t this the least you owe him? Why should he have to demand your submission like this? It should be given freely._

            He shuddered at the voice’s suggestion, his entire being screaming at the very thought. He didn’t owe anyone _anything_. And certainly, he didn’t owe Ivan anything but an explanation as to what the other had seen.

            But Ivan had reacted with his instincts first, and logic wasn’t there to get him out of this now.

            _Submit,_ the voice told him simply, and he shuddered, _submit and it’ll all be over soon enough anyways_.

            _You’ll submit to me tonight_ , Ivan had promised him this morning. But he knew this had _not_ been the way Ivan had planned on going about ensuring that submission. Ivan – unlike many of their pack’s dominants, and indeed, dominants in general – preferred submission that had been _earned_. Willing submission over demanded, expected submission was his creed, and he demonstrated it every time they ran into issues and arguments. Never once had Ivan forced him to do something without explaining any of it, without making it clear _why_ it was to be done, and he _always_ allowed Alfred to argue with him about it.

            But this was instinctive, and his submission was the only thing that was keeping Ivan from flying off the handle. Even if he this wasn’t technically his fault.

            _Submit_ , the voice said again, this time coaxingly, soothingly. _He’s still your mate. He won’t hurt you, not if you submit_.

            So Alfred blocked out the screaming voices in his soul, and listened to the insidious little voice that haunted his dreams at night. He bared his throat fully to the dominant werewolf standing right behind him, holding back the flinch that came when he felt the other nuzzle the newly exposed skin, and desperately trying not to think about how his hands shook, how his chest heaved, barely able to contain sobs that would never make it past sealed lips.

            A hand slid down his body and spread his legs, tracing a tingling path up his inner thigh, and he shivered. And desperately hoped it would be over soon.

* * *

           He woke on the wrong side of noon, the next morning, to the warm scent of breakfast wafting in from somewhere nearby. He blinked awake, wincing when he was hit with a wave of pain from his body, indicating how badly taxed it had been by the night before, but struggled to push himself up nonetheless. That’s how he realized that he was not only clean – which he certainly was _not_ from what he could remember before he’d passed out last night – but he’d been dressed in soft pajamas, and wrapped in thick, warm, and fluffy blankets, keeping him toasty in the perpetual chill that existed within their den.

            The curtains had all been drawn, he realized, because otherwise, he would’ve woken when the sun had hit his face. The light darkness in the room was calming, though, and he sunk back into the softness of the mattress with a sigh of relief.

            Reluctantly, he pushed himself up, bracing for the expected pain, and peered around the room for any more surprises. He blinked when he saw two pain relief pills on his bedside table, next to a tall glass of water that was covered by a coaster. He reached over – and _oh_ , even his _arms_ were sore – and clasped his fingers around the glass in a firm grip. He snagged the pain meds and swallowed them down with ease of long practice, soothing his hoarse throat with the water that followed them down. It would take some time for them to work, but they would, and the relief would be well worth it.

            It was only half an hour later when the pain was tolerable enough that he could bear to slip from his comfortable position in bed and not topple over.

            He'd moved into the bathroom, and the first thing he found were a stack of fluffy towels sitting on the little stool by the bathtub. A small vial of bubble bath from his father’s apothecary was nestled in the little stack, the label reading ‘ _to sooth soreness and induce relaxation_ ,’ which made him flush, because he _knew_ what his father would’ve thought if Ivan had gotten that from him. A small bar of soap – his favorite scent, from what he could tell – was sitting on the tub’s ledge, next to his usual bathing products.

            He felt his heart soften as he took in everything that had been laid out for him – his mate’s apology in all but words – and sighed, releasing as much tension as he could. He’d known that submitting last night wouldn’t be pleasant – it tortured him on a soul deep level that he hadn’t even realized was possible – but Ivan had been so out of it….

            He shook the thoughts from his mind, biting his lip to steel himself as he turned the tap on to draw a bath. He would soak for a little, see how good his father’s bubble bath was in reality, and then, maybe he’d think more about what had happened last night.

            When he’d finished with his bath, dressed again, and stepped out of the room still wrestling with his soaking hair, he blinked at the state of the living room. Really, he was doing that too much.

            The curtains had all been half drawn, so there was a little more light in the living space, but not too much. It was a pleasant kind of brightness, though, and it made him relax more than it should have. All the hard wooden chairs in the kitchen and dining space now boasted several pillows, and not the slim ones that they normally came outfitted with at the beginning. No, all the chairs had thick and fluffy pillows that had been painstakingly attached to the seat backs, which also had supportive pillows laden on their frames. He glanced back to the living room, where the fluffy, furry throw blanket he absolutely loved snuggling with- that Ivan was somehow allergic to - was artfully draped on the couch, within easy reach, and back to the dining table.

            There was a silver tray on the table, covered, where the smell of warm breakfast seemed to originate from. A pot of coffee was in the kitchen, steaming still, a mug set out next to it with a coaster on top. A note was set next to it.

            Ivan was nowhere to be seen.

            He sighed.

* * *

           He’d been napping comfortably on the couch when the door opened. Ivan had entered the den hesitantly, stowing his shoes away before venturing into the living space, his face softening when he took in his sleeping mate, before a flicker of guilt flashed across it. Alfred only began to wake when Ivan scooped him up from the couch, murmuring inaudibly, before blinking up into distraught violets as he was resettled into his mate’s lap. He scooted up, resting his head on his mate’s shoulder instead of his chest, and breathing softly against the hollow of the other’s throat.

            Ivan’s loose embrace tightened around him briefly, before loosening again.

            “You’re home early,” he said softly, knowing Ivan would hear him anyways. Even though he’d just woken up, he felt tired beyond belief. He didn’t want to deal with this right now; didn’t want to think of everything that would come up when they started talking. He didn’t want to think about the _screaming_ -

            “…I’m sorry,” was murmured softly into his neck as Ivan held him, and he relaxed into his mate’s embrace, forcing the terrifying thoughts out of his mind, “I know you weren’t okay last night. I just…,” _couldn’t stop_. Alfred sighed, turning his head to the side to be able to nuzzle the other wolf’s neck, and felt Ivan relaxing underneath him.

            He knew that. He’d known it last night, when he’d bared his throat, trembling down to his very core, and let Ivan have his way with him without protest; when he’d submitted in a way that had every fiber of his being _screaming_ , but he’d done it anyways because Ivan was his _mate_ , and that meant something, even if he didn’t want it to.

            The elders would’ve paid a _fortune_ to see him like that last night. They’d been trying to inculcate that kind of submission in him since he’d natured and had never been successful. They’d have probably thrown Ivan a feast for succeeding.

            He sighed, a little too loudly apparently, as Ivan tensed slightly, and looked up into upset violet eyes, before saying, “Things would be so much easier if humans understood mating marks.” Ivan nearly slumped at those words, tension slipping from his frame almost alarmingly. He pressed a soft kiss to the underside of the bigger wolf’s jaw, “Not your fault,” he murmured softly, “but don’t do it again.”

            He could forgive this time. He could forgive it, since Ivan looked so awful, so sorry, and since he _knew_ the bond was still so new and so raw, that anything that threatened to weaken it would be faced with the full force of Ivan’s possessive fury. It didn’t help that he wasn’t a typical submissive mate, one that could assuage Ivan’s fury with easy submission, or who would appease an angry mate without much fuss. His personality was as fierce and as strong as any dominant’s, and that caused issues within their relationship, even if Ivan didn’t like to think about it.

            He didn’t think he could forgive it again.

            It wasn’t the sex that he was concerned with; angry and vicious and _hurt_ though his mate had been, lost in his instincts, Ivan had still been remarkably considerate to him last night. The first time had been rough, edging on primal, but every one after that, there had been an edge of care to his mate’s actions; a gentility that few would expect. And even during the roughest parts of it, it had never been _painful_. He was a submissive wolf, and he was _built_ to take the damage an infuriated mate could dish out, but Ivan had taken him apart and made sure his body enjoyed every second of it. Before he’d passed out, he remembered being pulled into his mate’s arms, a kiss pressed to his forehead, and a soft apology whispered into the darkness of their room when Ivan had thought he couldn’t possibly have heard it.

            It was the submission that had undone him, that had frozen his very core.

            He thought he’d known how lucky he was with Ivan, even in the forest, during their initial mating. But now, he _knew_ how lucky he was. How many dominants would accommodate his desire for independence? How many would let his challenges to their authority slide so easily? How many would rather see him happy than obedient?

            If he’d had to survive that soul crushing oppression – the way everything that he was had _screamed_ at him to do _something_ until he couldn’t _think, couldn’t **breathe**_ – every day, he didn’t think he could. He didn’t think he was that strong.

            And that scared him.

            He tightened his grip on his mate, burying his face in the man’s neck, even as the other’s arms tightened around him securely. “Don’t do it again,” he whispered, and he felt the promise in the kiss dropped into his messy mop of hair.

            “I won’t,” was the hoarse response, because Ivan might not have been thinking clearly last night, but he sure as hell remembered everything. And he could remember the way Alfred had trembled in his arms, the toll that forced submission had taken on the fiery spirit that coiled within his mate.

            He liked to think of himself as a good dominant, even if he wasn’t quite a good man. He was possessive, protective, and self-sufficient. He _lived_ to protect his mate, and last night, his mate had had to protect himself _from_ Ivan. That stung at his soul.

            And he couldn’t guarantee that it _wouldn’t happen again_.

            But if it _did_ …he deserved everything his mate would do in response.

            “I-I did get you something,” he almost stuttered when his mate’s blue eyes turned to him, curious, and relaxed when he saw no condemnation within them. He pulled out a small box from his jacket pocket. “So that it never happens again,” he murmured, and let his mate open the box.

            A diamond, set in a shining silver ring, gleamed up at them both, and he could _feel_ his mate’s surprise.

            “A wedding ring?” his mate turned to ask, and he pulled the other closer and shook his head.

            “An engagement ring,” he clarified, and felt a spark of satisfaction when Alfred’s eyebrows rose in surprise. “We are mated and bonded within the pack, which is automatically considered as marriage in the human world. But…we are _not_ close. We are mates, but we are strangers. And until that changes – until _you_ feel it has changed – it will be an engagement ring. A promise of something more, but without the constraints.”

            “Really?” and if there was the slightest hint of incredulity in Alfred’s voice, Ivan found he couldn’t quite blame his mate. _Especially_ after last night.

            He thought of this morning, when he’d woken up out of his wolf-induced rage and everything had hit him like a freight train attempting cross-country. He thought of when he’d looked down and seen the state of his mate, saw the tear tracks he hadn’t seen the night before, the bruises and bites that covered more area than unmarked skin, and the way Alfred would wince in his sleep as he shifted, trying to get more comfortable.

            Alfred would never know that the moment it hit Ivan what he’d done the night before, Ivan had run to the bathroom and vomited into the toilet until he was dry heaving. He’d cleaned up his mess in the toilet, and the bathroom, until it was sparkling. Then he cleaned his mate, redressed him, and made him as comfortable as he possibly could.

            Because this whole thing was his fucking fault. He’d _known_ that Alfred hadn’t wanted the human to kiss him; he’d heard them shouting from across the parking lot. But his wolf had seen its mate accept the kiss for just a second too long – its submissive mate who wasn’t submissive at all, who challenged their authority constantly, who injured them without provocation, who disliked them, who didn’t act appropriately for a submissive wolf – and thought that this was something that its mate would do intentionally, to anger them more. And then Ivan was lost to the _rage-hurt-betrayal_ that swarmed him, and not even Alfred’s fear – fear of _him_ – had been able to bring him out of it.

            “Really,” he said, voice hoarse, making sure he met his mate’s bright blue eyes, and said, firmly, “I promise.”


End file.
